


Untouched By Frost

by DameRuth



Series: Flowers [40]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory ftw, Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: Rose returns to the Flowers!verse, and everything changes. Latest chapter: "A Song of Horizons" -- the reunion, finally![Continuing the Teaspoon imports, originally posted 2008.06.05 - 2009.04.06. This was to be the Big Flowersverse Fic, but unfortunately I never followed through; I did get to a Ten/Jack/Rose reunion, which was a nice stopping point for a while, but "a while" turned into a long time - until now, more than 10 years later. At this point I don't know if I will ever write it all out, though I did have a plan and I would *like* to wrap it up, even after all this time. But for now it stands as it is; assume the reunion was properly joyous, and that eventually Our Heroes worked everything out (which is, ultimately, accurate). Ratings and tags include material originally planned, just in case. This portion never gets above a "Teen" rating at most, but might as well have things in place.I did write a few stories set later in the Flowers internal chronology, and will post those in the near future.]
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness, Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: Flowers [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/14017
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \--> Author's Notes:Because I'm somewhat evil, here's a teaser for the "Flowers" grand finale, "Untouched By Frost." Posting probably won't get into full swing for a week or two, (among other things, there's one more Flowers!verse Ten/Jack one-shot also IP), but I AM working on it . . .

_All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
\-- J. R. R. Tolkein_

Rose sat bolt upright in bed, not sure what had startled her, and found herself staring into the face of an enormous wolf. Its shoulders nearly brushed the ceiling of her fine, large room in Pete Tyler’s mansion and its fur and eyes shone like fire, or sunlight, or the heart of the TARDIS. With its head and neck extended the length of her bed, the tip of the Wolf's muzzle nearly touched Rose’s nose. Its breath was hot and smelled of sandalwood and ozone.

The vision was startling, but somehow not surprising.

“Oh. Hello,” Rose said, since she felt like she needed to say something. So far as she knew, there was no proper protocol for greeting a Goddess of which you yourself were a part.

_Hello,_ the Wolf replied, pleasantly enough. _Are you well, Rose Tyler?_

“Yes,” Rose began, ingrained good manners speaking for her. Then she shook her head impatiently and told the truth, short and simple. “No. I don’t belong here, and I miss _him_.”

The Wolf nodded. The Wolf knew how she felt — the Wolf knew everything. Rose remembered that much, even if the details of what “everything” entailed were fuzzy.

_Are you ready to go home?_

Rose’s heart leapt and tears prickled in her eyes. “Yes!” she said, and it was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Will You take me?”

_I cannot,_ the Wolf said, gravely and drew back a little, raising Her massive golden head so that the tips of Her ears brushed the ceiling. _But I can tell you how to find the way._

Rose, hurt and grateful at once, wiped her eyes with the cuffs of her pajama shirt and sniffled, so that she could speak. “What _took_ you so long?” She was immediately embarrassed — she sounded like a petulant little girl.

The Wolf cocked Her head and considered a moment. Then She carefully shifted in the tight confines of Rose’s room and settled back on Her haunches. _The Universes needed time to heal, before the Void could be safely opened again,_ She said. The glowing golden eyes blinked, once. _And you needed time,_ she added.

“What for?” Rose asked, suddenly bitter. “We could — You can — do anything with Time and Space. Why _three years_?” Three years of trying to live a fantastic life while her heart was ashes, and nothing she did could heal her loss . . .

_You needed time to be sure,_ the Wolf told her, calm and inevitable as rotation of the galaxy. _You will lose everything you have to make the journey. You needed to know you would not look back. But now you are certain._

“Oh, yes,” Rose breathed.

_Then be at the shore at sunrise, three days from now. You know the place._

“I . . . do.” Out of nowhere, she felt as if a line had been drawn between her heart and a particular point on the planet’s surface. “It’s like I’ve always known it.”

_You have._ The statement was absolute but affectionate.

Rose could sense that the Wolf was about to leave, and suddenly she had to say what was foremost in her mind. “Why didn’t you stop it?” she asked, anguished. “Canary Wharf? The Void? You’ve got the power, You knew it would happen . . .”

The Wolf sighed, breath rumbling like a bellows and washing Rose with sandalwood.

_The Gods move mysteriously because sometimes that is Their only choice,_ She said. _Trust me on this one,_ She added, and Rose suddenly heard the familiar cadence of her own voice in the Wolf’s. _I couldn’t change everything, couldn’t be your special guardian. That would destroy both Universes. I had to choose carefully. In the end, I could only do four impossible things, in all of Time and Space_.

The Wolf dropped her jaw and let her tongue loll between her huge fangs, suddenly smug. _This will be the third thing. Don’t waste it._

One luminous eye was shuttered by an unexpectedly cheeky wink, and the Wolf was gone.

Gasping, Rose sat up in bed, which was disorienting because she’d thought she was already sitting up. Now, though, the room was dark and empty.

It was a dream. But dreams had been right before, and Rose didn’t doubt this one.

She rolled out of bed and began fumbling around for her slippers.  
_  
TBC -- and how! ;)_


	2. A Charm in Three Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three is a charm; Rose learns what she's gained, and lost.
> 
> Thanks to aibhinn for beta-fu, though this went through many changes since she last saw it -- all errors are mine.

Rose had been at the kitchen table for several hours by the time Pete Tyler wandered in yawning, wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas. It was only just dawn, well before any of the household staff was busy, but Pete was an early riser. Rose had got into the habit of waking early while traveling with the Doctor, so they often found themselves sharing the kitchen and a bit of welcome quiet time first thing in the day.

All the same, Pete stopped short when he took in the scatter of maps and atlases littering the table, and the sight of Rose staring intently into the blue glow of her laptop’s screen.

“Morning,” he said, turning the greeting into a question.

“Mornin’,” she replied. “There’s coffee on.” She didn’t look up from her computer, but she lifted her mug a few inches off its coaster by way of demonstration.

“Thanks,” Pete said, and poured some from the carafe. Then he settled down across from Rose at the table and sipped his coffee in expectant silence.

She felt his eyes on her and sighed. She’d been delaying, but he knew her too well.

They could never be the perfect father-daughter team of Rose’s childhood dreams, but there was a resonance between them that would never have existed for an ordinary stepfather and stepdaughter. Whether it was shared genetics, echoes between parallel Universes, or some combination of the two, they understood one another with an instinctive connection that went far beyond anything rational.

It had spooked Pete badly at first, Rose knew. It had spooked her a little after she’d got over the first happy daze of seeing her mother and father “reunited” and had time for the implications and realities to sink in. Sometimes she couldn’t help wondering how it was between this Pete and her mum, each of them embracing a mirror image of someone they’d loved and lost. She supposed it should be disturbing, but it worked for them and they seemed genuinely happy together. So it was all merely . . . complicated.

Time and familiarity had helped both Rose and Pete, bringing first mutual respect and, finally, unforced affection on its own terms. Their mutual love of Jackie Tyler helped, as had the arrival of Alan Tyler, who had both his father and his big sister firmly wrapped ‘round his littlest finger from day one. They were, no matter how strange the circumstances, a family now.

Rose looked up and met Pete’s eyes, seeing the warmth and concern there. It fractured her heart a little, and she understood for the first time what the Wolf had meant about losing everything in order to make the journey.

“I had another dream,” she told him.

Pete blinked. “About the Doctor?” he asked.

“No. Well, yes. More or less. It’s hard to explain, but another path between the Universes will be opening three days from now.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she told him, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze.

He didn’t question further. He’d seen her follow another dream to a beach in Norway so she could speak to a man who wasn’t there. She knew he believed her, when it came to dreams. He took a slow sip of coffee with the air of a man buying time.

“Will you go?” He looked into his cup for a moment then back at Rose.

He already knew the answer. She could see it, along with the sorrow he was holding back. His calm acceptance was what broke her.

“Yes,” she whispered back, stricken, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

Pete didn’t say anything more. He simply got up, walked around the table and sat down in the chair next to Rose so he could take her in his arms and hold her as she cried.

\------

Later that morning, Rose sat perched on the edge of Pete and Jackie’s bed. Jackie’s second pregnancy (a girl, according to the ultrasounds) was advanced and problematic. She’d been forced into large quantities of bed rest, which she accepted with ill grace. She and Pete had already decided that this child would be their last.

Rose finished summarizing her dream (rather vaguely -- she had no idea how to describe the Wolf to her mother), and fell silent. Pete had left the room a while ago so mother and daughter would have privacy.

Jackie lay back and rubbed her forehead.

“You’ll be going then, crossing back over,” she said, no more blind to the implications than Pete had been.

“Yes. Mum . . .”

“Shush. Will it stay open, this rift?”

“No. Mum . . .”

“I said, _shush_!” Jackie repeated, and Rose shushed. “A one-way trip then.”

“You don’t sound surprised.” Rose had expected Jackie to go ballistic. This steady reaction, so similar to Pete’s, left her uncertain.

“I’ve always known this could happen, Rose. What surprises me is that it’s taken this long. I would’ve thought _he’d_ get his arse in gear before this.”

“He?” Rose repeated, surprised.

“The Doctor! Always gadding about in ‘Time and Space,’ so full of himself — you’d think he could find a way back to you. I thought he had, last time, till he vanished.”

“It couldn’t’ve worked, then,” Rose said, finding herself drawn into an unexpected defense of the Doctor. “You know what he said, he would’ve risked destroying both Universes!”

“Convenient, that, innit?” Jackie said with a sniff, and Rose could tell she was using waspishness to cover deeper feelings; she was trying to hold it together for Rose, to be brave.

_Did everyone see this coming but me?_ she wondered.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Rose said aloud. “But I have to go.”

“Of course you do!” Jackie replied, with such force it shocked Rose into silence. Jackie took Rose’s hand and squeezed. “I know what I said before, but I was wrong — it wasn’t fair, me trying to keep you. S’ only natural for children to leave home, eventually. I’d just got so used to you being everything I had . . .” She trailed off and was silent for a moment. “He loved you enough to send you away twice so you’d be safe, and you loved him enough to go back twice. Third time’s the charm, they say.”

Rose swallowed, determined to as brave as her mum. “I’ll miss you, and Alan, and Pete, and my sister . . .”

“I know, love, and we’ll miss you, but you aren’t _happy_ here. I see it in you every day, and it breaks my heart. If I know you’re happy, that’s what’s important.”

“Thank you,” Rose whispered, since she didn’t trust her voice at full volume. She leaned forward into her mother’s waiting arms for an awkward embrace, working around the bulge of her little-sister-to-be. “You won’t be alone; you’ll have all the others . . .” she began, and then something else took over her words for a moment. “They’ll always be near, they’ll have fantastic lives, and they’ll make you proud. I promise.”

It was the voice of prophecy, an echo of the Bad Wolf, and it shocked Rose to the core even as it made her glad.

“Oh, Rose,” Jackie said into Rose’s hair, exasperated, clearly noticing nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m _already_ proud.”

\----

Mickey glared at Rose, brows drawn down. He didn’t look angry, rather as if he were thinking hard.

“You’ll need new ID,” he said unexpectedly. “You’re dead there, you can’t go back as Rose Tyler.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Rose told him, blinking; it wasn’t something she’d thought about yet.

“Give me your old passport, and I’ll start working on it. Might as well get something out of workin’ at Torchwood, yeah? With their resources, we can make sure you pass.”

“Right. Thanks,” Rose told him, the words seeming small for the gratitude she felt. “I’ll go get it.”

“Wait — how’re you getting there? Your mum can’t travel, can she?”

Rose sighed. “No. I know it’s killin’ her, but it’s just not safe. Pete’s gonna stay with her, too. I was gonna rent a car. Faster than booking a zeppelin.

“Well you can just forget _that_ ,” Mickey told her. “I’ve got a van. I’m taking you, and I don’t want any arguments.”

Rose smiled at him, and felt like her heart was melting. She did love Mickey, she always would. “Wouldn’t dream of it. One last adventure, right?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but from the expression on his face, it looked almost as if she’d kicked him. _Damn, shouldn’t have said “last” . . ._ “I’ll go get my passport,” she said, embarrassed.

Mickey took a deep breath. “Get me the latitude and longitude of where we’re going — email it to my Torchwood account. Might as well scout it out, see if there’s anything weird we should worry about.”

_There isn’t,_ she almost said, with certainty borne of the Bad Wolf’s knowledge, but she bit her tongue. “That’d be great. I really appreciate it.”

“Not to worry, babe,” Mickey told her, with a grin that was almost believable. “Always said I was your man in Havana.”

“Yeah. You’ve never let me down,” she replied. She turned from him then, not brave enough to watch his reaction.  



	3. In the Liminal Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No beta this time, since I was slow to get it written but wanted to post this part by the real-world Summer Solstice. Any and all errors are mine (feel free to laugh and point). Happy First Day of Summer, everyone!
> 
> Note: I've never been to Wales, so please forgive anything I get wrong with my descriptions and geography of the south Wales coastline. Google can only help so much.
> 
> Note the second: I realized I should probably clarify my AU timeline before I get too much further with this. So: as far as DW is concerned, this takes place in the "gap" between VOTD and the canon beginning of S4, so no Donna, much as I love her. The Doctor is traveling alone (with side trips to visit Jack). From Torchwood's/Jack's point of view, all of this is takes place after KKBB, but before the events of "Reset." That stated, onwards we go . . .

Rose leaned back in the front passenger seat of Mickey’s van, watching the predawn water through the windshield. 

They’d left London late the day before, driving through the long summer twilight with the intent of finding rooms at a hotel once they arrived in Wales. That plan changed, though. Neither of them would have been able to sleep, and they both knew it. Instead they spent the night awake, parked here on a cliff above the shore, talking and reminiscing. They’d laughed and joked, sharing Jackie’s sandwiches and a thermos of hot coffee, never once speaking about the dawn or what would come afterwards. Finally they’d out of things to say; now they were simply waiting.

When Rose's research had located the beach that called to her, she'd been relieved to find it was in Wales, not far from Cardiff, rather than in Norway again, or somewhere even further afield. She remembered the Rift, and wondered if it somehow made the location more suitable for a passage between Universes. Likely she’d never know the reason; as the Wolf said, the Gods moved mysteriously. 

Once she knew where she was going, the time that followed had been a whirlwind of farewells and planning. 

Pete freed her from dealing with any legal aspects of her impeding disappearance. “I’ll take care of it,” he’d said, in his best Dad-voice, receiving a heartfelt hug from Rose. 

That left her with tying off her Torchwood projects as best she could and saying her few goodbyes. For once, Rose was glad she hadn’t made friends easily in this Universe.

She hadn’t needed to pack. In fact, she knew instinctively that the less matter passing through the Void, the better. Jackie, wanting to send her daughter off properly, wasn’t easy to convince; she wanted to outfit Rose with gear more suitable for an expedition to Outer Mongolia than to Cardiff. Eventually she listened and settled for making sandwiches. 

Rose said goodbye to her family at the doorway of the mansion, at which point she and Jackie had finally both broken down and cried. As Mickey pulled out of the drive, Rose risked one look back to capture a final memory of Jackie and Pete and little Alan waving together in the afternoon sunlight. 

Rose was fairly certain Alan didn’t understand, despite her best efforts to explain. In the end, she’d settled for wringing a few free hours out of the chaos to play with him and to tuck him into bed with a story the night before. She’d written long letters for him and his sister to open in the future, trying to find the best words she could. She hoped she’d succeeded.

Outside the van, the sky was lightening, taking on a golden tinge. Rose checked her watch and mentally ran through her inventory one last time. She wore casual clothes suitable for summer weather — jeans, t-shirt and a denim jacket, nothing remarkable. 

In her right rear jeans pocket was her forged ID and passport. In her right front jeans pocket she carried every scrap of other-Universe currency that she, Mickey and Jackie had had in their pockets when they’d crossed over at Canary Wharf. 

In her left front jeans pocket she had a long-dead cell phone that had once let her speak across galaxies and millenia, but which had ultimately failed due to a lack of compatible chargers in the new Universe. Rose hadn’t cared overly much — the phone didn’t work across the Void, and didn’t reach the one number she wanted to call more than any other.

In the left breast pocket of her jacket, she had an envelope full of photographs, infinitely precious.

In her right breast pocket she had a map of Wales (from this Universe, making it possibly unreliable in the small details, but better than nothing), and a bar of chocolate; a pair of folded sunglasses hung from the corner of the pocket, one of the earpieces slipped down inside. 

She also had a small fortune in gemstones scattered discreetly about her person — her Tyler inheritance converted into transportable form by Pete, who had chosen only antique stones without laser-engraved serial numbers or other forms of identification. By selling a few gems here and there Rose would have a continuing means of support while she reestablished herself, if necessary.

Last, but far from least, tucked inside her t-shirt for safety (and the better to touch her skin) she wore a gold pendant set with a carved coral rose, sharing space on a fine chain with a very plain Yale lock key. She’d worn them constantly for the last three years, everywhere but in the shower. Absently, she rubbed the bump key and rose made under her shirt, for luck and comfort. Not much longer.

The sky brightened a little more, and then a deep twinge rattled through her bones, startling her, like the lowest string being plucked on some immense musical instrument.

“S’ time,” she told Mickey.

They followed the narrow path down the crumbly cliffs to the beach. The tide was coming in, but there was still plenty of bare shoreline. No worry about being trapped there, as sometimes happened to unfortunate tourists. They walked almost to the water’s edge and stopped.

“So what now?” Mickey asked, staring out across the Bristol Channel.

“Dunno. I’ll know it when I see it,” Rose replied. She kept her eyes on the water, too. Easier than looking at each other.

For a few moments there was nothing except the two of them standing there, inhaling the fish-and-seaweed scent of the shore, a faint breeze blowing cool salt air in their faces. Then the first sliver of the sun cleared the horizon, the water blazed like hammered gold, and everything changed.

The world doubled, like two different bits of film projected over one another. The beach they stood on was overlain with one where the tide was slightly out of synch, further out, bare sand showing instead of hissing breakers. The breeze and background noises of the shoreline dulled, creating a cocoon of unnatural calm.

“That’s it then,” Mickey said, sounding gobsmacked, but not too gobsmacked to add an edge of irony to his tone. 

“Yeah,” Rose said, and turned her head to look at him. Catching her movement from the corner of his eye, Mickey did the same, and when their eyes met, Rose’s skin began prickling and crawling. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but not a comfortable one, either.

She could see Mickey clear as day, but she could also see right through him -- just empty air where her best mate stood.

Mickey’s eyes widened. “You’re glowing,” he said.

The sun was halfway risen. Knowing she had little time, Rose grabbed Mickey for one last hug and he went solid and real again in her arms. So solid, he could anchor her to this Universe if she chose to stay. If.

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear; she'd never regretted saying those words in the past, and she wasn’t about to make a mistake by skipping them this time.

“Love you, too, babe, now get _going!"_ Mickey growled back. “Don’t wanna miss your ride, do you?”

He released her, fading into half-reality again, and she managed a shaky smile before turning her face to the water’s edge. It was all her choice. She could decide which beach was real to her, both probabilities exquisitely and perfectly balanced while the sun still touched the horizon. 

The choice wasn’t a choice — or, rather, it was one she’d made long ago. Confidently, she stepped forward, a movement that would have put her ankle-deep in seawater in Pete’s World. Instead, her foot landed solidly on damp, packed sand . . . and so did her next step, and the one after. 

In the eerie hush, she could hear the coral pendant and Yale key at her throat, chiming against one another in time to her stride.

\----

Holding one hand up to shade his eyes, Mickey watched Rose as she strode out onto the water without touching it. He had to squint, the reflected sunlight painfully bright: bright enough to overpower the pale glow radiating from Rose and turn her into a slender silhouette, dark against a sea like molten metal. She held herself straight and proud as she passed from one life and Universe into another, never wavering, never looking back.

He watched until his eyes blurred and watered from the light (mostly) and he couldn’t hold back reflex any longer. He blinked, and Rose was gone. The sun cleared the horizon, the water became just water once more and the world filled itself with the rumble of waves and the cries of gulls.

Nothing more to see. Mickey wiped his eyes and walked back towards the path to the van, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. 


	4. A Season's Wish Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No beta again, and possibly a little short, but I've got an unusuallygen fic to finish up and I wanted to get Rose to at least one of her reunions this week! Plays heavily on the AU relationships established in ["Like Flowers"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666685/chapters/59605234) and elaborated upon in ["Thorns."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689002)

Rose flipped one page of the newspaper as she sipped her tea. The rustle of paper seemed loud in the café, which was practically deserted in the slow hours between lunch and dinner. It was just Rose, a young couple over by the entrance, and two women by the window. The two women actually had the best seat in the house, where it was easiest to see the entire establishment in one glance, but Rose reminded herself she wasn’t working for Torchwood anymore. She picked an out of the way alcove instead, the better to read undisturbed.

When she’d crossed the beach and the Void, ignoring the water that was there in favor the bare sand of another world, there had been a few moments where she was enveloped by dazzling golden light and the dizzying sensation of walking a very narrow tightrope indeed. Then the sun had risen, her foot landed in the wash of a wave (soaking right through shoe and sock to the skin beneath with an icy shock) and she was on an ordinary beach again, in the second after sunrise.

After a moment’s startled hopping and cursing as she jumped back from the waves and shook her soaked foot, a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that both Mickey and his van were gone. Her eyes prickled and painfully for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and she felt the same adrenaline rush she’d always experienced at setting foot on a new world.

But this wasn’t a new world. It felt comfortable against her skin, and she inhaled appreciatively. Glancing up, she saw no plump, rounded silhouettes of zeppelins passing by — just clear, empty blue sky and a few ghostly contrails. She was home.

She looked around eagerly, but her heart sank when she saw nothing but the empty beach. That was when she realized she’d been subliminally expecting to cross over and find a familiar blue box waiting for her, with an even more familiar man standing beside it to welcome her home.

Rose swallowed her disappointment and shook her head, dismayed at her own naivete. Then she oriented herself with the sun, the Channel and her map of Wales, and started walking.

Less than an hour’s easy walk brought her to Penarth (the same town in both universes, apparently), and then a bus brought her to Cardiff. Once there, she made a beeline for Roald Dahl Plass. Everything was still as she remembered it from a sunny morning years ago, with one important exception: there was no TARDIS waiting to welcome her home.

Rose stood for a moment, fighting despair. She’d been so sure . . . the Wolf wouldn’t have brought her here without reason, would She? Would the Goddess be so cruel to a part of herself?

_Stop whinging,_ she thought angrily. _You know She wouldn’t — and even if She didn’t drop you off the Doctor’s doorstep, She brought you_ across the Void _to his Universe. That’s the hard part. So grow up and get to work._

She spun on her heel and strode off to find a city directory.

After selling off the first of her gems for some working cash, she realized she was getting hungry. She had her bar of chocolate, but she decided celebration was in order and went in search of a quality meal. Without conscious thought, her feet took her to the restaurant where she and Jack and Mickey had once shared a lighthearted few hours with the Doctor. It seemed appropriate, so she purchased newspaper and went inside.

Good food raised both her blood sugar and her spirits. Skimming the newspaper, she began to catch up with what had been happening during her absence, starting with the large-scale events and working towards the small. She spared a moment to look through the “odd news” section with extra care — Torchwood reflexes again, though she didn’t see anything that would have merited investigation.  
_  
I wonder if the Torchwood in this world is hiring_ , she thought with amusement. _Or even if they still exist._ Her amusement faded as she remembered the destruction at Canary Wharf.

Forcing herself to refocus, she turned to the classifieds. Come to that, she would need a place to live, and a way of earning money — she planned to keep her Tyler inheritance in reserve as much as possible. With the Rift here, Cardiff might not be a bad place to settle down. The Doctor was sure to come through to refuel again. Someday.

She sighed and took a long sip of tea, looking up from the printed page and out the window to ease her eyes. It all looked very much the same as it had. Her heart twisted and she allowed herself the painful indulgence of pretending, just for a moment, that she’d gone back in Time and a leather-jacketed Doctor with big ears and blue eyes was waiting just outside for her, along with a handsome dark-haired man with a brilliant smile.

And then she heard Jack laugh.

\--

Rose nearly choked on her tea and her stomach clenched with fear as she genuinely doubted her own sanity for a moment. Then she heard Jack’s laugh again. It was unmistakable, his real, full-throated laugh, the one he used with people he trusted, not the wry chuckle he affected for strangers. It was coming from just behind Rose and to one side.

Her breath locked in her chest, Rose swiveled her head very carefully to look.

It _was_ Jack — not only was the posture immediately recognizable, but he was just about the only person Rose would expect to wear a Second World War military greatcoat as if it was everyday twenty-first century clothing. He was sitting with the two women Rose had noticed earlier at the table with the excellent vantage point. He must have arrived when Rose was engrossed in her newspaper. He sat with his back to Rose, in a chair he’d reversed so he could rest his folded forearms along the top of the back. She couldn’t see his face, but the two women (a petite Asian lady and a woman with fair skin and dark hair) were both smiling at him.

None of them appeared to notice Rose, off to one side in her alcove.

Her brain tumbled with frantic thoughts. _He said he’d never been in Cardiff before,_ she thought, wildly. But it was him, she had no doubt, and her Jack had died on the Game Station. This must be Jack from earlier in his timeline, before he’d met her and the Doctor in the Blitz. Maybe he was/had been running a con, and hadn’t wanted to risk the Doctor’s disapproval by explaining how he’d first visited Cardiff.

He wouldn’t know her yet. She could probably stay lodged here at her table until he and his friends left without risking meeting him and causing a paradox. But she couldn’t: she just couldn’t sit there in the same room as a man she would love/had loved and who was dead as far as she was concerned. It would kill her. She had to get out.

Moving slowly and casually to avoid attracting attention (even though her pain and instincts screamed at her to run), Rose refolded her newspaper and stood. She left money for a tip on the table and started walking towards the door. She would be clearly visible from Jack’s table, but if she did nothing unusual, he probably wouldn’t even glance her way. It was all good, it was all safe . . .

_“Rose!”_ Jack’s shout made her jump and spin, in shock and reflex. By the time she’d turned, he’d already cleared most of the distance between them, though he stopped abruptly just out of arm’s length.

Oh, God, it really and truly was Jack. He was staring at her as if she were a ghost, with an expression of hope and pain so intense it hurt to look at him.

“Rose, Rose Tyler, it is you — isn’t it?” It sounded like a prayer, as if he were fighting against believing in something he wanted desperately but couldn’t imagine was true.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Jack.”

Then she was in his arms without remembering how she’d got there, and the two of them were holding on to each other as if they were drowning.

“God, Rose,” he said into her hair, and she could hear tears in his voice, “It’s been so long, I never thought . . .”

“I thought you were dead,” she said in half-reply, rubbing her cheek against rough wool, astonished at the solid reality of him, the spice-scent of his skin waking vivid sense-memories. “I was so sure you were dead.” She stiffened, suddenly wary. “Jack,” she said urgently, “when was the last time we saw each other? We can’t risk a paradox.”

“Satellite Five,” he said, pulling back to look at her, but keeping hold of her arms. “The Game Station and the Daleks. You . . . I stayed behind. It was years before I saw the Doctor again. He told me about Canary Wharf.”

Rose realized he was being careful, giving away no details of Canary Wharf besides the name. Clever Jack. He ‘d always had a time-traveler’s reflexes. She studied his face, and now she could see he was older than when she’d last seen him. The differences were subtle, mostly to do with his expression — something watchful and controlled around the eyes. There were a few additional fine lines marking his otherwise flawless skin, and two or three scattered threads of silver shining in his dark hair.

All that time she’d been certain he was dead, he’d been alive. That brought up questions — too many for the moment, though.

“Canary Wharf was the last time I saw the Doctor,” she told him. “I was trapped in a parallel Universe until this morning. Then I found a way through, and came home.”

“Just like that, you came home,” Jack said, his tone gone teasing. He grinned at her, eyes sparkling, and she couldn’t help smiling back. “You and the Doc — whatta pair. But! It sounds like we’re in synch, which means I won’t destroy the Universe if I do . . . this!” He grabbed her more tightly and spun her in a joyous, unexpected circle. Rose squeaked and laughed with surprise, then delight as she was swept off her feet.

Jack set her neatly back on the ground and Rose was just about to pull him down for a kiss when a deliberate throat-clearing from the side interrupted her.

The two women Jack had been sitting with were watching the show with raised eyebrows. The Asian woman was wearing a small smile as if she thought the scene was charming and couldn’t wait to hear the story behind it; the dark-haired woman (who seemed oddly familiar now that Rose saw her up close) was also smiling, but her expression was wry and far less friendly.

“Someone you know, Jack?” the dark-haired woman asked dryly. She had a pronounced Welsh accent, which only added to the niggling sense that Rose had met her somewhere before.

“Naaaah,” Jack said, completely unself-conscious. “I’ve just decided to start accosting random women in public places in hopes of getting lucky.” He flicked a sideways, conspiratorial look at Rose, who was still wrapped in his arms. “I think it’s working pretty well.”

Rose punched him very lightly in the ribs and laughed helplessly. That broke Jack’s attempt at keeping a straight face and he began to laugh along with her.

_Home,_ was all Rose could think, her heart singing to be in her lover’s arms again. _I’m really home._


	5. Beneath These Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been having an unexpectedly knotty time with this next bit, because I can so clearly see all of the events from Rose and Jack's points of view simultaneously. I think I've managed to solve the double-vision problem, though, so on we go . . . Remember that this takes place before this 'Verse's version of the TW S2 episode "Reset." It's a short chapter, but the alternative was taking even *longer* to post a bigger chapter, so I decided to go with splitting it.

“Now lean back and relax, you’ll just feel a little prick . . .” Owen told Rose, with enough of a smirk to make the double entendre very clear.  
  
Rose, seated in the medbay examination chair, rolled her eyes openly at Gwen, who was standing off to the side as chaperone and nurse-if-necessary. Gwen’s body language was standoffish; she was leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. All the same, a small, almost involuntary smile touched her lips in response to Rose’s _is he always like this?_ expression.  
  
Owen finished taking the blood sample, pulling the needle from Rose’s arm with the precise care that always seemed so at odds with his bad-boy persona. Rose gave him a sweet smile as he did so. “Yeah,” she said. “That was so little, I couldn’t even tell when it went in.”  
  
Owen snorted. His expression was irritated, but Jack, leaning with crossed forearms on the observers’ railing, could read a grudging respect in the medic’s attitude. Owen appreciated people who could not only handle his . . . unique bedside manner but also send a little of it back his way.  
  
In contrast, Gwen was biting her knuckle to keep from grinning, openly amused now. She hadn’t been pleased with Rose’s presence in the Hub; Jack wasn’t sure if that was because of the events involving Captain John Hart — the last “old friend” of Jack’s to appear — or if she hadn't cared for the warmth of his reunion with Rose. Probably a bit of both. Even so, she was warming to Rose anyway.  
  
Rose Tyler still had the ability to charm the world out of its collective socks, that much was clear.  
  
Jack didn’t look up when Ianto took a position next to him at the railing — he’d heard the younger man approaching from some distance away. Nor did he adjust his personal space when Ianto’s shoulder brushed his.  
  
“I recognize her,” Ianto said, keeping his voice low, pitched for only Jack to hear. “From the security tapes at Torchwood London. She was with the Doctor at Canary Wharf.”  
  
Jack favored Ianto with a sidelong glance. Ianto was looking down at Rose meditatively. He was wearing no particular expression at all, but Jack had learned to read many of Ianto's subtle cues and thought he seemed more curious than upset.  
  
“Yeah, she was,” Jack replied. “She was the one who saved us all in the end. She nearly got pulled into the Void doing it, but instead she got trapped in the parallel Universe the Cybermen were from. It took her this long to get back here.”  
  
Ianto’s shoulders hunched fractionally in an involuntary response to the mention of Cybermen, and his face went even blanker and blander than before. That deliberate lack of expression was reminiscent of the days when he was hiding Lisa in the basement and doing his best to fly under everyone’s radar in the guise of a deathly dull office boy. It usually meant he was concealing something. Jack’s attention sharpened.  
  
But all Ianto said aloud was, “Did she travel with you, when you were with the Doctor?”  
  
It didn’t take a genius to know what he was really asking. “Yes,” Jack responded, simply. “We were close -- very close.” He knew Ianto would read the implication clearly, but he wasn't going to lie, or sugar-coat things; that way led to disaster. Best just to get the truth out there, for Ianto to deal with as he would. He deserved no less.  
  
Ianto glanced in Jack’s direction for the first time since joining him at the railing. “Tosh checked the logs. She hasn’t found any indications of unusual Rift activity this morning, or any sort of energy spike in the south Wales region at all,” he said, trying and failing to look as if he wasn't changing the subject.  
  
“There usually isn’t anything like that in cases of divine intervention,” Jack replied.  
  
That earned a disconcerted blink from Ianto, and Jack suppressed a grin. His team always thought he was _joking._ Little did they know . . .  
  
“Right,” Owen was saying down below, stripping off his latex gloves. “I’ll just need to run the lab work, but from what I can tell you’re none the worse for wear, crossing between Universes. Wish taking a crosstown bus was as easy on the system . . .”  
  
“I’ll need to be gone for a while,” Jack told Ianto. “ _Not_ as long as last time,” he added preemptively, to forestall whatever comment Ianto was opening his mouth to make. The last "official" absence, he meant, as opposed to the smaller pieces of stolen time marking his more recent adventures with the Doctor. Ianto was aware of those, too, but they remained a matter of silent understanding, never spoken of. “Probably no more than a day,” Jack continued. “Maybe less, if everything works out the way I think it will. I’ll brief Gwen before I go.”  
  
Ianto shut his mouth and nodded, looking back down to where Owen was helping Rose from the examination chair in an unexpected display of chivalry.  
  
“Hey,” Jack told Ianto, voice soft. He rested one hand reassuringly on the other man’s shoulder. “I said I’ll always come back to you. I meant it. You believe me, right?”  
  
Ianto hesitated a moment before meeting Jack’s eyes with heartbreaking sincerity. No more bland masks. “Yes,” he said.  
  
_Gods above and below,_ Jack thought as he gave Ianto a warm outward smile, touched to the core, _make me worthy of that trust. Someday. Please._  
  
\---  
  
Rose settled into the chair across from Jack’s desk, craning her neck this way and that to take in all the bits, bobs and architectural details around her.  
  
Jack had given her the grand tour, starting by taking her down through the Invisble Lift (“Was this here all the time?” she’d asked, holding onto his arm and laughing in sheer disbelief. “Yup,” he’d replied with a grin. “Looong story.”). She’d ooh’ed and aah’ed with genuine, gratifying delight at everything he’d pointed out.  
  
She’d also recognized a lot of what she was looking at before he pointed it out , and she’d made some pretty sharp comments and observations. Nor had Jack missed the steady, confident poise with which she confronted an entirely new environment, or the lightning-quick way she’d sized up each of Torchwood’s members on introduction. Clearly, Rose Tyler had done a lot of growing up since they’d been parted. He couldn’t help but approve.  
  
“So, whaddaya think?” Jack asked with a grin, dropping into his chair and swiveling back and forth slightly as he awaited her reaction.  
  
“You have a pterodactyl. I’m insanely jealous,” she told him, grinning back.  
  
“Aaah, don’t be — Myfanwy’s near as much trouble as she’s worth some days, and she costs us a fortune in chocolate each year.”  
  
Rose narrowed her eyes at the mention of chocolate, as if unsure whether he was winding her up, but she let it pass, adding, “I really like the Batcave motif you’ve got going, too. My Torchwood was all boring and conservative in comparison.”  
  
“Huh! The Doctor calls this my Batcave, too,” Jack said, without thinking.  
  
She sobered immediately. “So do you hear much from . . .?” Her voice trailed off, and Jack could tell she wanted to know so badly, it was hard for her to speak the words and make it all real.  
  
Jack went serious in turn. “I wouldn’t say _much_ , necessarily,” he said. “More like ‘now and then, when he feels like it.’ He might actually be by on his own later today, seeing as it’s the Solstice and he likes to stop by on holidays . . . but I’m guessing you’d like to see him sooner than that.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and cocked his head invitingly.  
  
“You think?” she breathed. It was meant to be humorous, but it wasn’t, not with the raw intensity of feeling that broke through.  
  
Jack nodded reassuringly. He knew, better than anyone, how Rose and the Doctor felt about one another. “I don’t have his number, and it’ll take time to get your mobile running — the battery’s completely shot — but fortunately I happen to have my sources.” He reached for his own mobile and gave Rose a conspiratorial wink.  
  
The look of hope and glowing near-adoration that blossomed on her face would be enough to turn more jaded heads than Jack’s (which was saying something) . . . assuming his head hadn’t been completely and thoroughly pre-turned as it was. Still, the strength of his reaction shocked him; the events of the Game Station and the long years since might never have happened, so far as the helpless warmth in the pit of his stomach was concerned.  
  
_Oh, Rose, I’ve missed you so much . . ._ he thought, followed for the first time by a hint of unease. It might feel like those intervening years never happened, but they had. _Where do we go from here?_  
  
His habitual self-control kept his outer shell intact, cocky half-smile firmly in place as he dialed Martha’s number and raised the phone to his ear.  



	6. A Song of Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Egads -- I honestly hadn't realized _how long_ it's been since I updated this fic. Wow. Faithful readers, please accept my apologies for the gap. I hope I can keep the muse mushing along in better time from now on . . . Many thanks to aibhinn and wmr/wendymr for beta-ing, even in the middle of the Support Stacie auction. Thanks, guys! :)

Rose watched breathlessly as Jack dialed. He tapped the fingertips of his free hand lightly on the surface of his desk, maintaining eye contact with her while he waited for whoever-it-was to pick up. _Sarah Jane?_ she wondered, but when Jack spoke, he said, "Voice of a nightingale! Hello there, Martha Jones."  
  
_Martha?_  
  
"Yep, got it in one . . ." Jack continued. "Yes, I know this is your UNIT number. Just because I'm Torchwood doesn’t mean I don't keep tabs on the competition. How've you been? Good. And your family? Glad to hear it. Listen, I need a favor. Did you go through with that idea of yours, leaving your old mobile with a certain someone?  
  
"Ah, you did, great. Look, can I get that number . . .? No, no disasters, I promise. This is strictly personal." Jack listened to the response, then his eyebrows shot up. "Why _Martha_ , I'm wounded. Is that all you think I'm interested in?" He laughed at the response, shifting pen and paper into a convenient configuration, before beginning to scribble.  
  
". . . Eight-four-three-two," he said, echoing the last few digits as he transcribed them. "Got it. You're a saint, Martha. Listen — if you're ever in Cardiff, or ever, you know, looking for a job, give me a call, huh?" He laughed again. "Yeah, I owe you one now — one more, anyway. All right, I'll let you go. 'Bye!"  
  
He punched a button to hang up, then gave Rose a cheerful smile that asked, rhetorically, _Am I good or what?_  
  
"Who . . ." Rose cleared her throat, which was a little tighter than it had been. "Who was that?"  
  
Jack grinned more widely. "An impressive young woman — well, a doctor in her own right, now — named Martha Jones. She traveled with _our_ Doctor for a while. Saved the world, then retired and got engaged to yet another doctor — a human one, and pretty hot if I do say so myself. You'd like her. And him."  
  
Jack's tone was light and his expression didn't change, but Rose got the distinct impression that Martha’s fiancé was mentioned for her benefit. That was a 21st-century subtlety she wouldn’t have expected from the Jack she’d known, but this older Jack was different. There was a gravity to him that was new to Rose, along with the sense that there were several layers of thought moving at one time behind those handsome features. Not that Jack had ever been slow, but he’d been the sort to speak before he thought. Not any more.  
  
How long had it been for Jack? How long had Jack been _here_?  
  
The entire Hub resonated with his presence, and his impressive personality filled every corner of it when he was in residence. It went beyond being a beloved workplace — this was Jack's _home_ , and he was the undisputed leader. His people arrayed themselves around him like planets around a sun, following his lead with greater and lesser degrees of grace, but never questioning. That kind of loyalty took time to build.  
  
Rose knew he didn't age at the same rate as a 21st century human; she’d been shocked to find out he was nearly forty when he'd first traveled with her and the Doctor. He'd laughed at her surprise, and told her that lifespans had increased by his time: he expected to reach at least a hundred and twenty if he wasn't shot by someone else's jealous partner before then. He didn't look that much older now, but what did appearances mean in his case?  
  
Now that Rose's initial stunned delight over seeing Jack again was starting to fade and reality was sinking in, she had a lot to consider.  
  
When she'd been turned over to Owen for an examination (which she’d expected — it would have been SOP for anyone arriving at _her_ Torchwood with the same story of crossing between Universes), she'd taken Dr. Harper's measure fairly quickly. It proved easy enough to flip a bit of his attitude right back at him, including asides to Gwen, with little conscious effort. In the meantime, she had been able to use her peripheral vision to continue absorbing information about her surroundings, the way Pete had taught her to do. She'd noticed Jack up above, watching her exam. At first she'd paid attention because his familiar presence was comforting. Then she watched because of Ianto.  
  
There was no mistaking that lack of personal space, the way they spoke to one another in undertones or the way Jack rested his hand on Ianto’s shoulder. It was more than mere casual intimacy — there was real attachment between the two of them, and Jack didn't form that sort of relationship easily.  
  
She was glad now that her intended kiss of greeting had been interrupted, and that the chain holding the key and the rose was tucked out of sight under her shirt.  
  
It wasn't as if Rose had kept herself lily-pure during her sojourn in Pete's World. She'd thought she was stuck there and had initially tried to forget the past, in some of the more immediate ways possible. A bad idea all around, she'd learned, hurting herself and others in the process. Did she have any right to be unhappy that Jack'd had better luck than she?  
  
Absolutely not. That decision was ridiculously easy, and if something in her chest was feeling a little bruised she would just have to grow up and get over it.  
  
The truly difficult question was a far deeper one.  
  
Jack had settled down, built a team and taken at least one fairly serious lover. The Doctor had found other people (all right, other women, most likely) to travel with him. Was she the only one who hadn't moved on? Was she stuck in the past? Would the Doctor even want to see her again? They'd both known, no matter how bravely she said "forever," that he would end up losing her . . . and he had, once. She remembered the look on his face, him screaming her name while she fell, that image burnt into her memory far more than any fear of the fate she’d been falling towards.  
  
Wouldn't she be condemning him to the same thing all over again, just in slow motion?  
  
She'd been so certain about coming back, so focused on returning, she hadn't thought much beyond that goal. Was following the Bad Wolf a mistake, one that had cost her her family and brought nothing but new pain to someone she loved?  
  
"Before I dial this number," Jack was telling her, holding the sticky note teasingly aloft, "I need to talk to my second-in-command. Unless I miss my guess, we'll have a Time Lord in our laps — and I mean that fairly literally — before I finish saying your name. I need to give Gwen a few briefings before that." He had his pleased sparkle going, with the grin that could melt lead shining full in her direction.  
  
"Are you sure?" Rose couldn't help asking, much as she tried to restrain the words.  
  
Jack's smile wiped off his face, leaving confusion. "Huh?" he asked.  
  
She took a deep breath, glancing down at her tightly-clasped hands, having to force every word. "Are you sure he'll want to come? Or will I just be dredging up the past? If he's moved on . . ." _like you’ve moved on . . ._ She took another deep breath, then made herself meet Jack’s eyes. “Jack, was I right to come back?”  
  
Rose had never expected to shock Jack Harkness, but she was rewarded with exactly that result — the familiar, gorgeous, self-confident face gone completely slack for a moment. Then his jaw tightened and he stood and walked around the desk until he stood next to her chair.  
  
"Rose," he said, looking into her upturned face with an expression of absolute conviction, "he will _always_ want to see you." His sky-blue eyes searched hers, flickering with tiny movements as he took in the subtleties of her expression. She couldn't help noticing how very tall he was, standing while she was seated. "And so will I," he added before tilting her chin upwards with his fingertips so her lips would meet his kiss: pure, passionate and everything she remembered. The familiar scent and taste of him, the always-unexpected softness of his lips on hers, made it seem as if they’d never been separated at all. She responded as she had in her lonely dreams, without reservation.  
  
Jack was the first to break the contact. "I just have to talk to Gwen," he said, fingertips lingering on her jawline, visibly regathering himself, his pupils huge and familiar. "Back in a moment." Then he was gone.  
  
Rose blinked at empty air for a moment before being brought back to reality by a gentle cough behind her. She turned to find Ianto, holding a silver tray supporting two steaming mugs and wearing a perfectly composed expression that told Rose he'd just seen everything. Still rattled from the intensity of Jack's kiss, Rose felt a flush rising in her face, which made her even more embarrassed, and sent her blush deepening in an appalling feedback loop.  
  
As if completely oblivious to her embarrassment, Ianto said, "I thought you might like a cup of coffee." He held the tray out to Rose, solemn as a fine butler, and she took a mug automatically. The scent rising from it was heavenly, like the distillation of all coffee that had ever been and would ever be, but Rose was too flustered to notice properly. Looking up into Ianto's clear, friendly face left her even more disconcerted than encountering outright jealousy would have.  
  
"Erm, sorry," she said, by sheer spinal reflex.  
  
Ianto cocked an eyebrow, one side of his mouth curving up in the faintest half-smile. "Don't be," he told her, in that unexpectedly deep, husky voice of his. "Jack is . . . Jack." His smile widened, and Rose couldn't help but smile back.  
  
"That he is," she agreed, closing her eyes as she inhaled the rich coffee aroma: the same scent no matter which Universe she might be in, familiar, anchoring. "'Hearts are made for sharing, not for giving,'" she quoted, mostly to herself, but when she opened her eyes again, Ianto was wearing a surprised expression. With his guard down he looked considerably younger, confirming her initial suspicion that he wasn’t much older than herself.  
  
"Ah, you've heard that line before," she said, smiling to take away the sting, and took a sip of her coffee — which, to her delight, tasted as good as it smelled.  
  
Ianto blinked, then his smile was back, with a sly, dry twist that Rose liked immediately.  
  
"So I have," he responded, voice gone even deeper with amusement. "And I'd bet we're not the only ones."  
  
Rose laughed outright at that, and grinned up at Ianto over the rim of her mug. She was reminded, irresistibly, of the moment when she and Sarah Jane had realized they didn't need to be rivals and could be friends instead.  
  
"Not by a long shot," Rose agreed, and sipped her coffee again, appreciatively. "This is good. I mean, really good. Thank you."  
  
Ianto set his tray down on Jack's desk, then, to Rose's surprise, fetched another chair. He sat down in it, facing her, and took the second mug of coffee for himself. He wrapped his hands around it, but didn’t drink, looking down at the dark, reflective surface of the liquid as if gathering his thoughts.  
  
Rose wasn't sure what to say, if anything; he didn't look like he was nerving himself up for a jealous boyfriend routine, especially given his easy acceptance of a moment ago. She sipped her coffee as she watched and waited.  
  
"I just wanted to say," he said to his coffee, before looking up to meet her eyes, "thank you. For Canary Wharf. For saving us all. Jack told me what you did."  
  
Rose was taken completely by surprise. "The Doctor did everything, really," she said. "All I did was push a lever and then lose my grip on it. Nothing very impressive. More the opposite."  
  
"I was there," Ianto told her, brushing aside her attempt to downplay her role. "At Torchwood London. My girlfriend, Lisa, was . . . killed by the Cybermen, partially converted." His expression was shadowed, hinting at the horror of a much longer story behind the simple words.  
  
Rose swallowed, appalled, holding the warmth of her cup more tightly. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry." More and more she understood why the Doctor said those words so often. They were tiny, in the face of such pain, but they were also completely true.  
  
Ianto gave his head a slight shake, face going determined. "Don't be. It wasn't your fault. It was ours, if anything, the way we were trying to poke holes between Universes. But . . . I saw. I know what they did to her, and what they would have done to the whole world if they could, never mind the Daleks. So, thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," Rose told him, after a moment's dazed silence. "Sorry, I just don't hear that much; I don’t expect it."  
  
His piece spoken, Ianto was relaxing again, and he gave her a wan smile. "Tell me about it. I work for Torchwood." He sipped his coffee for the first time, as Rose chuckled.  
  
"Some things never change, do they?" she said. "It was the same in the other world."  
  
"What was it like, your Torchwood?" Ianto seemed genuinely interested.  
  
Rose looked up and around, at the tiled walls and vaulted ceiling and murmuring water tower. "Not like _this,_ " she said. "For one thing, we didn't have a pterodactyl."  
  
\---  
  
". . . That should be about the last of it, barring the usual unpredictable emergencies," Jack told Gwen, as they walked together through the Hub. "I won't be gone more than a day or two, tops."  
  
Gwen's mouth thinned. She didn't say anything, but he could read her expression well enough: she was willing to believe that _he_ believed what he was saying, but she didn't accept it as accurate.  
  
"I'm not running out on you, Gwen," he said, trying and failing to keep the irritation from his tone. "Not like last time." _I'm trying to be a responsible adult here, Gwen; I'd appreciate it if you noticed._ "I just need to get Rose settled where she belongs."  
  
"More to do with your Doctor? Or is it the Time Agency again?"  
  
"The Doctor this time," Jack said, holding onto his temper. "You met John -- d'you really think Rose would fit in the same background as him?"  
  
Gwen relented a bit. "No," she said, her voice losing its edge. "She's definitely not his type. Though she's an odd one — she kept looking at me and smiling, then asked if my family'd been in Cardiff for a long time. When I said yes, she nodded and said, 'Thought so,' just before she changed the subject. You wouldn't happen to know what she meant?" She gave Jack a narrow-eyed look.  
  
He shook his head, spreading his hands. "Not a clue, honest. I can ask her if you'd like."  
  
Gwen sighed. "No, that's all right. Whatever it is, I'm probably happier not knowing."  
  
"Torchwood's making you cynical, Gwen. You should spend more time with Rhys, planning your wedding," Jack replied. He intended it to be light and teasing, but from the way Gwen suddenly found the blank wall they were walking past fascinating, he realized she'd read it as being dismissive.  
  
He cursed silently, but didn't dare say anything for fear of making the slip worse. He and Gwen had been on tenterhooks since he'd returned, playing out their own little slow-motion train wreck. Jack understood what was going on perfectly. He'd spent way too much time during the Year That Never Was using thoughts of his team — Ianto and Gwen in particular — as his mental crutch, his talisman to get him through the bad times. When he'd arrived back, even though he'd had a few months to get back on an even keel, he still wasn't as stable as he could be. (Probably still wasn't, truth be told, but Jack had long since decided sanity was a relative thing.) His desperate relief at learning the Year really hadn't happened to the people he cared about had affected a lot of his unconscious reactions, and he'd telegraphed the intensity of his feelings rather “loudly.” Given that he and Gwen already shared a perfectly natural dose of the friction-attraction that developed between people who worked closely with one another under intense circumstances, things had spiraled out of proportion. Unfortunately, just knowing how a situation was screwed up wasn’t necessarily any practical help at all in dealing with it, as Jack had learned early in his long life.  
  
If they'd been living in the fifty-first century, there would have been ways to settle the situation openly, and, if nothing else, defuse the tension. Unfortunately, the cultural safety valves he was familiar with didn't exist in the twenty-first century, and Jack knew very well the damage that he'd do to Gwen and Rhys' relationship if he didn't play by contemporary rules.  
  
He just wished, sometimes, that they weren't such bloody stupid rules.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by laughter, deep and light together, which jarred him out of his darkening mood.  
  
". . . So there he was, hanging from her leg and yelling like a maniac while she went flapping around the warehouse," Ianto was saying to Rose, both of them sitting in front of Jack's desk, cradling mugs in their hands. Ianto's voice was far more open and animated than usual in the presence of a stranger; for once he sounded like a young man not yet thirty, rather than an ageless butler-archetype. "And he had the tranquilizer syringe, so there was nothing I could do . . ."  
  
"I was _not_ yelling like a maniac," Jack said, mildly enough, he thought.  
  
Ianto broke off and looked at Jack with a complete lack of shame, a bright spark of mischief dancing in his eye. "Well, such things are open to interpretation, of course, but that's how it sounded from _my_ vantage point."  
  
Rose snickered into her coffee, and Jack was struck with the disorienting sensation of having two entirely separate portions of his life intersect. _Gods help me, they're bonding, that's never good . . ._  
  
"So," Rose said quietly, smiling but tentative, "is it time?"  
  
Jack glanced at Gwen, then Ianto, collecting two faint nods, Ianto’s more readily given than Gwen's, then back to Rose. "As time as it'll ever be," he told her, letting a faint smile touch his lips.  
  
Rose responded by draining the last of her coffee. Ianto held out a hand and she passed over the mug with a genuine smile for him — which Ianto answered, Jack noted, with another moment of vertigo — before rising and holding out her hand.  
  
Mustering every ounce of confident charm at his disposal to reassure her, Jack took her hand and led her in the direction of the invisible lift.  
  
\---  
  
When they were about two-thirds of the way to the top, Jack estimated it was time. With a wink at Rose, he pulled out his mobile and punched in the number Martha had given him. Two rings, and the Doctor picked up.  
  
"Hello? Martha?" was the rather breathless greeting.  
  
"Sorry, Doc, just me."  
  
Rose bumped him with her elbow, eyes wide. _Is it him?_ she mouthed.  
  
_Yes,_ Jack mouthed back, and worked his hand free from hers so he could put a silencing finger to her lips.  
  
"Jack? How did you get this number?" The Doctor sounded torn between being huffy and intrigued. Much as he liked springing them on others, the Doctor didn’t take well to surprises sent in his direction, Jack had noticed. Well, he was about to get an even bigger surprise than two of his old companions collaborating on the sidelines. The thought made Jack smile in anticipation.  
  
"Called up Martha and asked for it," Jack said. "Didn't have much choice after you took the old TARDIS phone unlisted . . ."  
  
"It seemed the better part of valor," the Doctor replied. "Why are you calling? Not the Rift, I hope."  
  
_You didn't do anything foolish and expect me to come cleaning up?_ Jack translated easily. "No. Well, I don't _think_ it has anything to do with the Rift. But there’s someone here who wants to see you. She's come a long way."  
  
Dead silence, nothing but the rumble of the Lift's gears and the noise of the TARDIS's engines over the phone connection. Rose kept her silence, but she was biting her lip in suspense, her eyes wide. Then, from the Doctor:  
  
"She?" The word was a hope and a prayer and a certainty of being disappointed all in one.  
  
"Yeah, she. Rose. The Bad Wolf brought her back," Jack said. "D'you want to talk to . . ." He stopped.  
  
"What?" Rose asked, grabbing his arm. "What did he say?"  
  
"He hung up," Jack said, flipping the phone closed and slipping it into the pocket of his greatcoat. "I think his hands were busy all of a sudden."  
  
Rose opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out was a strangled squeak and she began to scrabble frantically at her neck, pulling a thin chain from under her t-shirt. On it was a Yale key that was pulsing with a brilliant silver-blue light. Jack caught a momentary glimpse of what shared the chain with the key — a carved coral rose in a golden setting.  
  
Before his synapses had time to really react to that revelation they were through the pavement of the Plass and out into a fine, sunny first-of-summer's day: white puffs of fair-weather clouds in a bright blue sky. Echoing clearly across the open space was an achingly familiar grinding of temporal gears, just slightly out of whack with one another and running rough. The echoes intersected, bouncing off the buildings and stones, creating odd harmonics, turning a normally harsh noise into something almost musical, that seemed to carry hints of golden song around the edges.  
  
Both Rose and Jack turned their heads instinctively towards the source of that sound. Jack noted that, as always, the familiar blue shape was materializing in her favorite location, the tiny triangle of "dead" space in the CCTV coverage of the Plass.  
  
The stone beneath their feet clicked into place just as the TARDIS became fully real. A distant door was wrenched open and a thin figure in a nearly matching blue suit tumbled out. A rumpled brown head came up, and a shout of _"Rose!"_ rang across the square, louder and clearer than any human throat could have managed.  
  
"Doctor!" Rose responded at the top of her lungs, and then she was off, running for all she was worth, with the Doctor matching her stride for stride, his long limbs moving in a flat-out effort. He was faster; they met when Rose was only about a third of the way across the intervening space, but she made up for that by being practically airborne for the last five feet.  
  
The Doctor saw and compensated, planting himself and catching Rose in the most heartfelt embrace Jack had ever seen. For his part, Jack crossed the Plass with long, swinging strides, moving quickly but not hurrying, savoring the perfection of his stage-management and very conscious of the way this joyous moment echoed (and somewhat redeemed) another, less-perfect reunion. So many memories, here in these stones . . .  
  
The force of the emotions on display broke the usual faint perception filter that covered the TARDIS and her occupants, casual passers-by who would normally turn a blind eye to such doings turning their heads to watch the show. Many were smiling at the happy scene before them.  
  
As Jack reached the two of them, they were still in the inarticulate stage, mostly repeating each other's names as they rocked together, faces buried in each other's necks, soaking up the reality of their mutual presence.  
  
"I missed you so much . . .!"  
  
"I missed you, too . . .!"  
  
They broke apart enough to look at one another, while still maintaining a tight grip, and there were bright tear-tracks down both their faces, human and alien together.  
  
"Oh, Rose Tyler," the Doctor said, gasping and giddy at once. "I love you." Then he froze, mouth working in shock for a moment, before blossoming into a mad grin. "I said it. I finally said it! I promised myself I would, if . . . in every language I know! _J' taime! Ich liebe dich! Te amo . . .!_ "  
  
Rose was laughing through her tears. "You could've talked faster the first time!"  
  
"No fool like an old fool," the Doctor said, and hugged her close again.  
  
"You can say that again," Rose replied, hugging him back, thumping him lightly with her fist. "'Impossible' my arse."  
  
"Oi!" The Doctor managed to sound outraged for all of a second.  
  
"I thought 'impossible' was my job," Jack said with amusement, grinning ear-to-ear in the reflected joy of the embrace.  
  
"Clearly that word does not mean what I think it means," the Doctor admitted ruefully, reaching up to run a distracted hand through his hair and earning more laughter from both humans.  
  
"Welcome home, Rose," Jack added more softly, because it was finally true.  



End file.
